The Sound of Silence
by bookworm42x
Summary: Ophelia Moon started out alone, and ended up alone. This is her story, involving a clever, mistrusting boy, the most beautiful witch in all of Great Britain, and the OTHER side of the Second Wizarding War- the one most commonly referred to as "The Bad Guys" in children's stories. TN/OC DM/HG TD/BZ
1. Prologue

_Hello darkness, my old friend_

_I've come to talk with you again_

Ophelia Moon was on the edge.

She gritted crooked, snow-white teeth and unstoppered another bottle of firewhisky, her eyes on the red-nosed, puffy-eyed girl in front of her.

"'N' then 'e says—'e says—_C'mon, Sal, don't be like tha'—_totally unreasonable, in'it 'e? Bloody Justin 'n' 'is bloody girlfrien'..."

She vaguely recognised the girl as Sally-Anne Perks, who had been in Ophelia's year at Hogwarts. Sally-Anne was an unpleasant, unattractive girl when she was a teenager, and Ophelia's friends had often made fun of her. Ophelia herself, however, had never had the courage involved in bullying, and so she simply attempted to tune Sally-Anne's loud, drunken rambling out as she crossed to the other side of the bar to serve an old man who had come in three times in the last week.

The Leaky Cauldron, needless to say, was never a nice place on Saturday night. Interesting, perhaps-but never nice.

"Oi, Moon."

Hannah Abbott—_no, Longbottom_, Ophelia reminded herself, _Hannah's married now_—peeked out from behind the door labelled Staff-Only. She was in the process of tying an apron around her waist. Hannah co-bartended the Cauldron with Ophelia, and she had also been in her year at Hogwarts, although in Hufflepuff. Unlike Sally-Anne, she had changed since school—she had lost her pigtails, for a start. She also seemed to have decided that the pompous Macmillan boy wasn't interested in her—or maybe she had never liked him, Ophelia often speculated wrongly—and married Neville Longbottom, a notoriously clumsy boy who was another target of Ophelia's friends' ridiculing.

"Yeah?" Ophelia said absentmindedly, pushing a glass of thestral rum across the counter to the old man, who drained it in a gulp.

"I've come to take over your shift."

Ophelia glanced at the silver watch on her bony wrist that had once been her aunt's. It was 8:02. "You're late."

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" Hannah replied irritably. "Get on your way, you've got a whole night ahead of you."

"Hold your hippogriffs, I'm going."

As Ophelia hung the apron up on a hook, she wondered, as she always did at the end of her shift, how she had come to be here. Here, bartending at the shabby Leaky Cauldron, of all places, when she had always aspired for bigger things—an Auror, a Healer, anything except the shoddy life she led now. She knew the answer, of course, but she didn't like it, and Ophelia tended to ignore what she didn't like.

But still, as she pushed open the Staff-Only door, it all came back to her. It always did. A clever, mistrusting boy, the most beautiful witch in all of Great Britain, and Ophelia Moon herself, of course.

_And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains_

_Within the sound of silence_

**A/N: That's just the prologue, but I'm almost done with the first chapter. If you like it, review! Also, this is not a fluffy story, just letting you know- so if you looked up "Friendship/Romance" and were actually looking for fluff, this is not a rainbows and unicorns fic. I mean, I think you already got that just from this really short bit, but in case you didn't- there you go. And the song the start and the end of the story is loosely based on is The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel, one of my favorite songs, so check it out!**

**Reviews are love :)**


	2. Introductions

"Be good, now, or you won't be coming home for Christmas or Easter."

"Yes, Aunt Drina," deadpanned eleven-year-old Ophelia. Her aunt was a stern-looking, white-haired woman who wore only tweeds. Secretly, Ophelia thought that it would be a blessing indeed to be able to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays.

"And remember, if you're not in Slytherin your pocket money will be _severely _depleted, understand?"

"Yes, Aunt Drina."

"Good. Now get on board, if you miss the train I'll have to set up a Portkey, and that would be terribly stressful—you don't want to stress out your old aunt, do you?"

"No, Aunt Drina," said Ophelia. It was not a lie—Drina Selwyn was frighteningly silent when she was stressed, and Ophelia had quickly discovered that the best way to make her aunt's company tolerable was to be completely obedient.

"Good. Go on, I've got to be at Lavinia Montague's manor for tea and she simply hates tardiness."

So Ophelia slid her trunk onto a luggage rack that the conductor was attempting to levitate onto the train, and set out to find a compartment. She eventually managed to fit in one with several other girls who appeared to be in her year. They giggled and fussed and ate sweets for the whole ride. Ophelia simply immersed herself in one of her school textbooks, staring at the text but not really reading it, and listened as the girls prattled on about what Ophelia's aunt would classify as 'useless rubbish.' Finally, she remembered the two precious Galleons she had filched from her Aunt Drina's purse that morning, and left to buy sweets. The girls in her compartment did not notice.

* * *

Theodore Nott was not happy. Of course, he was usually unhappy, but he was very good at concealing it.

His parents had decided to remain in the sitting room and discuss the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet_, so he had been brought to Platform 9 ¾ by the family house-elf, Twitchet, instead.

"Twitchet will leave Master Theodore here, sir!" squeaked the elf, making Theodore's handsome dragon-skin trunk zoom onto the luggage rack with a snap of her fingers. "Twitchet must be serving Master and Mistress their tea, sir!"

Theodore nodded absently and boarded the train.

"Oi, Nott!" A tall black boy waved from a compartment at the other side of the car. "Over here!"

"Zabini," said Theodore listlessly, making his way over to the boy.

"Malfoy's made some new mates," said Zabini, refraining from any polite greeting or discourse that was usually considered pureblood etiquette. "Those two thugs that came to Mother's Christmas Ball—Crabbe and Goyle." He spat out the names disgustedly.

"They are pureblood?" It was not so much a question as a statement, for Theodore knew that Draco Malfoy would not be friends with a person if they were not a pureblood.

"Of course," replied Zabini. "Oh, and there's talk that Harry Potter is on the train."

"Really?" said Theodore—it was an effort now, even for him, to sound uninterested. Harry Potter had defeated Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby, as everyone in the Wizarding world knew. Many suspected that Harry Potter possessed incredible powers.

"Yeah," said Zabini, enjoying the attention as he sat back in his seat, taking his time to chew up his Chocolate Frog. "I heard it from that Davis girl, who overheard those ugly Weasleys blabbing about it to anyone who would listen." He paused to fish for another Frog. "He's half-blood, you know—Potter. Malfoy said he would make an exception."

Theodore decided to refrain from remarking that perhaps it would be Potter that would be making the exceptions, and left the compartment to buy some Fizzing Whizzbees, his favourite sweets.

"One bag of Fizzing Whizzbees, please," he said quietly. Suddenly, Theodore looked up, shocked—for someone else had spoken the exact same words as him, at the exact same time. It was a girl who looked to be about his age. She had shiny, chestnut-brown hair that was plaited back neatly, startlingly white, crooked teeth, and a few freckles sprinkled on her long nose.

"There's just one left," said the witch. "A boy down there bought the lot."

_That had to be Malfoy, _Theodore thought bitterly, _always looking for excuses to show off his wealth._

The girl looked absolutely terrified. "Y-you take it," she stammered. "I like Caramel Cauldrons better anyways...erm...could I have a box of the Cauldrons, please?"

"Two Galleons, dear," said the witch, holding out a speckled, wrinkly hand. The girl dropped the gold into it, hastily grabbed her candy, and set off in the other direction. Theodore noticed that she dragged her feet slightly as she walked.

* * *

As Ophelia munched on her Cauldrons, she thought about the boy she had run into at the candy trolley, trying to call up the image of him again. He was tall and skinny, with clear, Windex-blue eyes and jet-black hair. He seemed apathetic. Ophelia knew that wizards were still humans, and had to possess emotions, but seeing the boy made her doubt that fact.

"You're Moon, aren't you? Ophelia Moon?" said one of the girls, acknowledging her for the first time. She had a face like a pug. Ophelia was so startled that she could only nod.

"_I'm _Pansy," continued the girl. "Pansy Parkinson. I've met your aunt."

Ophelia fixed her eyes on her trainers and struggled not to groan. Anyone who had met Aunt Drina would surely not want to associate with her niece.

"She's not very nice, is she?"

"Mmm," said Ophelia noncommittally, not sure where Pansy was going with this.

"But then again, none of them really are. I mean, have you _met _Nott's mother? Total nutcase."

Ophelia wasn't sure who Nott was, but she smiled weakly anyways.

"I haven't seen you at the balls or anything. Most pureblood children are forced to go. But you _are _pureblood, aren't you?"

Ophelia hesitated as Pansy observed her shrewdly. Her father, Gerard Moon, Aunt Drina's brother, was a pureblood, and he had been disowned for marrying her Muggle mother. When her parents were killed, she was placed under Aunt Drina's care. Aunt Drina was so worried at her own name being shamed, she quickly covered up her brother's mistake and claimed that Ophelia's mother was a respectable, conveniently deceased pureblood girl named Cora Wilkes. No one knew Wilkes particularly well, so no one suspected the story.

"Yes," said Ophelia slowly, speaking for the first time. She was aware that the other girls also had their eyes on her. "I'm pure."

The girl next to Pansy giggled shrilly. "You had me worried there! I'm Tracey, by the way, Tracey Davis. And this is Daphne Greengrass." She indicated the girl by the window. Daphne Greengrass, aside from having a name that sounded like it belonged to a beautiful wood nymph from Beedle the Bard's tales, was incredibly perfect.

Ophelia, who usually made sure to note other people's faults, could not see anything wrong with her at all. Daphne looked like a china doll, with perfectly curled golden hair, porcelain skin, and glassy green eyes. Her school robes were clean and pressed. The only thing Ophelia could criticise was that she was _too _perfect.

"Hello," said Daphne. Her voice was neither quiet nor loud and obnoxious like Tracey's. And there was nothing wrong with a simple 'hello.'

Ophelia only tilted her head in acknowledgement, worried that if she uttered another word, it would sound like something in Troll.

"You're quiet," said Pansy.

"I suppose I am," said Ophelia, still gaping at Daphne in disbelief.

"Yes, she's quite beautiful, isn't she?" said Pansy as if remarking on a museum exhibit. "Her little sister's a bit of a runt, though. Your mum and dad are pretty disappointed about her, aren't they, Daphne?"

"Yes, they are," said Daphne.

"Apparently she's quite educated, though. And very kind." Pansy sniffed, clearly expressing that intelligence and benevolence was not enough to qualify a person.

"Yes, she is," said Daphne. There was no note of pride in her voice. Ophelia, desperate to find some smudge, some insignificant imperfection, deemed her robotic, which satisfied her to some extent.

"So, Peel—can I call you Peel?" Pansy did not wait for an answer. "Tell us about your parents."

That day, Ophelia's talent for lying and deceit became more useful than ever.

* * *

"Moon, Ophelia!"

Ophelia clamped her pale, bony hands to the sides of her skirt-clad thighs to refrain from wringing them together as she dragged her feet up to the stool. The way she walked was an unfortunate habit that Aunt Drina often tried to stamp out of her. She had never really picked up her feet, except when she was required to jump, and those would be rare circumstances indeed.

She had only registered in her mind those had already been Sorted into Slytherin: two thuggish boys named Crabbe and Goyle who looked very dim, a skinny, white-haired boy named Draco Malfoy who had placed in the supposedly most noble House the instant the Sorting Hat grazed his head, and Daphne and Tracey, whom Ophelia had met on the train. Ophelia had been so busy watching the tall, black-haired boy who she had encountered at the candy trolley, she did not even notice when her name was called, and after a brief, awkward silence, Pansy nudged her and hissed, "Peel! You're up!" Those who heard her laughed, and Ophelia could feel her cheeks burning as the stern Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on her dark head.

"_You're supposed to be in Slytherin_," were the Hat's first words. Ophelia was not surprised, for Aunt Drina had told her about the Hat's ability to see inside its subject's head and whisper in its brain.

"_Yes, Mr. Hat_," thought Ophelia, for she could not think of anything else to call it—why, she wasn't even certain of the Hat's gender—, "_that's true._ _It would make my life a lot easier if you put me there._"

"_Yes_," said the Hat, "_but we all must choose between what is right and what is easy._"

"_Is it wrong, then_," thought Ophelia, her heart beating more erratically than a hummingbird's wings, "_for me to be in Slytherin_?"

"_You are afraid_," said the Hat, not answering her question. "_Not Gryffindor, then._"

"_Well, that's a comfort._"

"_Consider yourself lucky, Ophelia Moon, for though you are small, and though you are timid, you are also cunning. You are a _liar_."_

Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, the Hat's words echoing around the walls of her head.

"SLYTHERIN!"

She exhaled, and took her seat across from Tracey and Daphne as the Sorting Hat was handed to the trolley boy.

"Nice job," said Tracey in a loud whisper. "Oh, Nott better be in Slytherin. Oi, Daphne, can you imagine his mother's face if he was placed with those brawny Gryffindors?"

Daphne smiled, an uncertain, closed-mouth smile that was nonetheless lovely—just like the rest of her.

_Nott, _thought Ophelia. She wondered if Nott was the boy's first name or his surname. In her relief at being placed in Slytherin, she had not caught his full name as he was called up.

"SLYTHERIN!" exclaimed the Hat.

Nott walked down to the Slytherin table, and for a fleeting moment Ophelia thought he would take the empty seat next to her—although she didn't think she wanted him to. But he sat next to pale, white-haired Draco Malfoy instead, drumming long fingers on the edge of the table and looking as though he would much rather be somewhere else.

Suddenly, Ophelia noticed that Pansy had plopped herself down in aforementioned empty seat and started jabbering away to Draco.

"Of course, I already _knew _I was going to be in Slytherin, we Parkinsons have been for ages, but I was so dreadfully nervous anyways! Imagine the shame if I were in—say, Hufflepuff!" She shrieked with laughter, then turned to the side. "Oh, hello, Peel. Have you met Draco?"

Draco glanced over Ophelia with harsh grey eyes, and smirked.

"Draco, this is Ophelia Moon, but I think she prefers to be called Peel, don't you, Peel?"

Ophelia opened her mouth to object, but Pansy wasn't listening.

"You know that awful Selwyn woman? Her brother-in-law is that man your father is quite good friends with—although, who _isn't _your father good friends with, Draco?" Pansy tittered. "He's very well-connected, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," drawled Draco.

"I think her actual husband died years back, though, so that must be why she's so nasty. Anyway, Peel is her niece, but she's very well-mannered and all. What do _you _think, Draco?" Pansy leaned forward in her seat, her glittering eyes fixed on Draco, as if his opinion mattered more than anything in the world. But at that moment, the Slytherins' attention (and Draco's) was diverted by something that even Ophelia knew was a _very _big deal.

"Potter, Harry!"

A short, skinny boy with untidy black hair walked up to the stool, shooting nervous glances at the Gryffindor table. Ophelia looked him over, slightly disappointed. This boy was said to have amazing powers, but he looked so ordinary that she began to doubt that fact.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Draco looked sour. Tracey quietly informed Ophelia that he had attempted to make the acquaintance of Harry Potter on the train, but he had refused in favour of none other than _Ronald Weasley._

A _Weasley_?

This Ophelia could not fathom, for which mindless eleven-year-old would chose a poor, blood traitor Weasley over the only heir to the noble Malfoy name? Surely, the gossip about Harry Potter's abilities were false, because it did not seem like he possessed any intelligence whatsoever.

Ronald Weasley, too, was Sorted into Gryffindor. He sat near Harry Potter, an idiotic grin on his freckled face. _He's happy, _Ophelia observed. She wondered if she was happy. What _was _'happy,' anyway?

"Blaise!" screeched Tracey, distracting Ophelia from contemplating Weasley. "You made it!"

"Yes," said a dark-skinned boy with a low, soothing voice, sitting down beside her. "I knew I would."

"So did I," said Tracey admiringly.

Ophelia bristled—_girls here have no shame. _She quickly cleared that thought out of her head, realising that she sounded uncannily like Aunt Drina.

"Look!" said a second year boy. "Food!"

"Finally," groaned a fifth year.

And indeed, the tables had all been filled with some of Ophelia's favourite dishes in the space of about two seconds. She suddenly noticed that she was ravenous, and helped herself to some steak-and-kidney pie.

She didn't speak to anyone for the duration of the feast. Instead, she listened, trying to gather more information on her newfound companions—if they _were _companions. Ophelia still hadn't decided if she liked them very much. She knew she had to decide soon, or she'd be stuck with them forever. As she ate, she began a mental list of little facts about the first year Slytherins.

_Draco's father has connections at the Ministry._

_Pansy is fluent in Greek, Italian and French._

_Tracey is a gossip._

_Blaise hates coffee. _

"First years! Slytherin first years over here! Follow me, please!"

An older girl was waving from the end of the table. She had dark blonde hair drawn up in a French twist and thick, lengthy eyelashes that Ophelia suspected were enhanced by magical means.

"Lisette Harper," Tracey whispered in Ophelia's ear. "Very fake, isn't she? She's never missed a ball."

"Not one," agreed Daphne. "I can't believe she's a prefect."

The two chattered on about artificial Lisette Harper for a few minutes as they followed her down to the dungeons. Suddenly, Ophelia remembered something—she had still not discovered Nott's first name, or his surname, if Nott was his first name.

"Tracey, what's—"

But Tracey had just begun a long rant on how unseemly it was to wear the same pair of dress robes for two separate balls, and was not listening. Pansy was deep in conversation with Draco, which left Ophelia only one option to satisfy her nagging curiosity.

"Excuse me?"

She was expecting Nott to keep walking and say "You're excused" in a loud, drawling voice, as Draco certainly would have done. She had had Nott's personality all sketched out—he was, of course, just like Draco, because Draco, Tracey had informed her, was the typical Slytherin boy, and Nott was—well, Slytherin. And a boy.

She was _not _expecting Nott to turn around and say: "Yes?"

It was almost polite. It might have been polite, had he not said it in such an apathetic tone.

"Yes?" Nott repeated. Ophelia was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was simply standing there and gawking at him like a fool. Her cheeks burned.

"I was wondering what your name was," she said.

Here, she once again set up her expectations for Nott. She guessed that he would say something along the lines of: "You were sitting across from me for the entire feast and you didn't catch my name?"

Instead, he said: "It's Theodore Nott. Is that all?"

Startled for reasons unknown to her, Ophelia gulped and nodded. Theodore Nott did not give her so much as a half-smile before turning away and hurrying to catch up with Lisette Harper and the rest of the first year Slytherins. She stood in the torchlit corridor for a moment, Nott's Windex-blue eyes imprinted on her brain. Then Pansy's puglike face peered around the corner.

"You coming, Peel?"

"Yes, I'm coming."

The Slytherin common room was in the dungeons, so it was all stone, but there had clearly been some efforts made to make it more comfortable. The floor was covered in delicate green carpet, there were some squashy grey armchairs by a crackling fire, and flickering candles hovered near the low ceiling. When Ophelia and Pansy entered behind a thickset girl with horn-rimmed glasses, Lisette Harper was droning on about something-or-other that must have been very important, because the other first years were listening intently. Ophelia, however, was not. Her attentions were focused on her neatly tied shoelaces. She suddenly felt very tired, and wished that Lisette Harper would just show them the way to their dormitories already.

Thankfully, the prefect did just that: "Girls, your dormitory is up the stairs on your left. Boys, the same on your right."

The dormitory had five four-poster beds, all with emerald green hangings. Ophelia spotted her trunk at the foot of the bed nearest to the window. Then she realised something, and opened her mouth to remark on it, but Tracey beat her to it—

"Who's the fifth bed for?"

The door opened right on cue, and the square girl who had been walking in front of Ophelia came in. She had greasy black hair and big blue eyes that might have been enchanting on a different face. In her arms, she carried a large wicker basket that was growling loudly. Ophelia was sure she heard Daphne let out a soft groan.

"Oh...hello, Millicent," said Pansy, in what she obviously intended to be a pleasant voice. The girl called Millicent did not pay attention. She was looking at Ophelia.

"Who are you?" she asked rudely. Ophelia was startled to hear that Millicent's voice was unnaturally normal; she had been expecting a sort of grunt.

Pansy answered for her. "This is Peel, Millicent...well, her real name is Ophelia, Ophelia Moon, but her _nickname _is Peel."

By now, Ophelia had accepted that Peel, apparently, was her nickname, and that she could not do anything about it.

"Peel, this is Millicent Bulstrode."

Tracey shot Ophelia a look and mouthed _act-polite-I'll-explain-later. _

"It's nice to meet you, Millicent," said Ophelia.

"Mmm," said Millicent.

The five Slytherin first year girls climbed into their beds, and Ophelia fell asleep almost at once, still wondering what it was about Millicent Bulstrode.

**A/N: Er...so yeah. I think in this fic I'm actually going to go through each year of their school life. It'll be easier with this generation since the stuff that happened to Harry in canon, happened to them too. Most of it will be in Ophelia's POV (third person limited) but sometimes it will be in Theodore's, like the short segment at the beginning.**

**Well, excellent! Chapter finished! Review please :)**


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